


Choices

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year or so down the road Sylar and Mohinder are forced to work together by The Company. This is one of their conversations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

_“And then,” [Aziz] concluded, half kissing [Fielding], “you and I shall be friends.” _

_“Why can’t we be friends now?” said [Fielding], holding [Aziz] affectionately. “It’s what I want. It’s what you want.” _

_But the horses didn’t want it – they swerved apart; the earth didn’t want it, sending up rocks through which riders must pass single-file; the temples, the tank, the jail, the palace, the birds, the carrion, the Guest House, that came into view as they issued from the gap and saw Mau beneath: they didn’t want it, they said in their hundred voices, “No, not yet, ” and the sky said, “No, not there.”   
_ **-E.M. Forster, A Passage to India   
**

“Do I have the Shanti Virus?”

“Don’t call it that,” Mohinder warns with annoyance.

“That’s what it is. Do I have it?”

Mohinder hesitates, unsure of how to respond. There have been far too many lies in his life lately and it is becoming harder to remember what is actually true. The one thing he knows beyond a doubt is that he is no covert operative. He is tired. A truth, albeit an uncertain one, is the most he can still offer.

“Maybe. There’s been a mutation. My antibodies will only work against one strain. But if it is the other …” Mohinder explains, letting his voice drop off into silence.

“So, even with your help I could still be dying?”

“Yes, Sylar. You could very well still die.”

With a deeply questioning look Sylar watches Mohinder sitting across from him. Sylar sees the exhaustion that weighs Mohinder’s body down; he sees the tenseness in Mohinder’s eyes.

Mohinder has said nothing to Sylar about what he has been up to during all those months since Kirby Plaza, since Sylar “died” and then made his way back home.

First reunited a year ago, it was brief and circumstances had thrown them on different paths yet again. However Sylar’s plans for Maya had gone awry and his own symptoms began to manifest in ways besides the loss of his abilities: exhaustion, fever, joints aching, headaches. Eventually he had found his way back to Mohinder. He always found his way back.

But that trip had proven tougher than initially anticipated.

It has been three months since The Company has taken control of him, testing him, prodding him, preparing him away from Mohinder; never once giving him Mohinder’s antibodies, instead using him as a guinea pig. Some days he seems fine, other days it is obvious a virus is having its way with his body.

Only a month ago both were informed that they would be partnered up, despite their past together and precisely because of that past. No information as to the nature of their pairing was given. So far it has mostly been more tests in one of the lab facilities.

They have been together two weeks and Sylar has already shared almost every piece of information regarding Maya and Alejandro. Meanwhile Mohinder has played the contemplative listener, offering back almost nothing by way of information in return.

There has been a shift and both men feel it, but neither can place their fingers on what it is.

As such, conversations walk the fine line between personal and formal. Sylar wants more but fears that if he pushes Mohinder it will only make things worse.

“But if this is the virus your sister had, you can save me?” Sylar finally asks, curious about Mohinder’s answer.

Mohinder eyes Sylar carefully. Taking a deep breath, he sighs.

“Yes,” is all he says.

Without thought of playing it safe, instead concerned more with his own well being, Sylar asserts, “So test your antibodies on me.”

Sylar cannot figure out why Mohinder shows so little emotion at the suggestion. Mohinder’s scientific side should be jumping at the opportunity to test on a subject, especially with the virus running as rampant as it seems to be.

On the outside Mohinder appears apathetic. On the inside, however, worry is setting in. More and more people have been diagnosed with the new strain and Mohinder’s antibodies have been useless. Besides feeling like a failure, he feels trapped in an endless cycle. Mohinder does not think he can handle yet another person he knows being infected with the mutated strain. The toll of watching another person slowly succumb and most certainly die is a devastating prospect.

Even with everything that has gone on between him and Sylar in the past, Mohinder is fully aware that he would be just as emotionally wrecked if Sylar showed he was carrying the incurable strain. As devastating as the unexpected truth is, he keeps that personal revelation very close to himself. Sharing it would only highlight the vulnerabilities that he already feels plaguing him; worse, that knowledge would give Sylar power. A part of Mohinder wants to bury his head in the sand; if he does not test Sylar then he does not have to deal with the outcome; the outcome just does not exist.

Sylar’s voice snaps Mohinder out of his controlling thoughts.

“It’s not like we have to hide it…Mohinder?”

Mohinder’s eyes passively hold Sylar’s intent gaze before drifting off to scan the room around them; his eyes skirt along cabinets, microscopes, packaged needles and gloves. For a moment he settles his look on the multiple bottles of infection and vaccine carefully placed in the glass refrigeration unit off to the wall at his side. It is hard for Mohinder to grasp how something so sterile looking is actually teaming with millions of bacteria just waiting for their chance.

It was not supposed to be like this.

“Mohinder?”

Broken out of a trance, Mohinder’s eyes return to answer Sylar’s questioning look. It is still strange to sit with Sylar so openly in a Company facility. In only two weeks time almost everything Mohinder thought he knew has been flipped on its head. With the toss of the coin, a path perceived to be set in place has been ripped apart and then reconstructed. Sylar, once only viewed as an enemy, has now become a research subject, alive by necessity. Unlike the last time he was in their presence.

No matter how hard Mohinder tries to retain some sort of ethical leaning he has come to learn the same lesson over and over as he has been knocked down repeatedly: There is no such thing as a set path. Everything changes, so learn to be flexible.

Sylar can read some of this on Mohinder’s face, but not all of it. Like seeing only pieces of a puzzle but not all of it, Sylar is trying to figure out what has happened to alter Mohinder, just like he himself has been altered. Their previous selves are still there but now exist more as shadow images instead of a solid present reality.

Sylar has been patient, as much as he can be. For Mohinder he has actually gone longer than he would have ever bothered to try with anyone else. But now it is time to deal. The first step is knocking down the infection currently manipulating his body.

“Mohinder!” Sylar booms as he slams his hands down on the counter right in front of the geneticist.

Mohinder jumps in his seat, startled.

Irritation in his voice, Mohinder says, “They haven’t given me clearance to give you my antibodies…yet.”

“Since when do you do everything The Company asks you to?” Sylar replies sarcastically before taking a breath and continuing more calmly. “You don’t want to see anyone else die if there’s a chance you might be able to save them, even if that person is me.”

Sylar’s eyes take a hold of Mohinder’s and refuse to let go.

“Test your antibodies on me.”

The tone in his voice stirs an old memory in the deep recesses of Mohinder’s mind. Contemplating the man sitting across from him, Mohinder sees the prism images of Sylar as they exist in one man. There is the murderer, the watchmaker, his friend. They all exist within the same body and at any given time one is more dominant than the others.

Mohinder does not care about The Company’s orders regarding who gets his antibodies, but he does worry about the consequences. Although he does not fear for his own life, (his own physical well being, yes, but not his life) he is not so sure about the lives that might be at risk if Sylar is saved and is unleashed on the world. How can he trust that Sylar will not hurt anyone else? There are no guarantees and yet Mohinder also knows he cannot sit back while another person painfully wastes away.

“I promise not to hurt anyone,” Sylar says leaning towards Mohinder, his voice deeply forceful but with little conviction, as if he has heard Mohinder’s rambling thoughts and is trying to superficially quell his fears.

Mohinder lets out a short laugh with no humour in it. Leaning forward towards Sylar, closing the distance of the table between them, he knowingly says, “Yes you will. You shouldn’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Sylar.”

Smiling at him, Sylar slyly replies with a hint of force in his voice, “As you wish. Now save me Mohinder.”

Mohinder gets up to gather plastic gloves, a needle, and a vile of his antibodies. Sylar watches his process, the care Mohinder takes in what he does; the honour he places in it. Once upon a time Sylar took similar pride in fixing the variety of watches that crossed his counter. That had turned into the pride he took figuring out how all those special people worked. It was an art form; a mathematical equation that only those select few with the aptitude for such work could make sense of. It has been awhile since that feeling has run through his body and infused his blood.

Mohinder pulls his chair up next to Sylar’s. Under Sylar’s watchful eyes, Mohinder sits down and ties the rubber tubing around Sylar’s left bicep. Prepping with some alcohol along the skin, Mohinder slowly draws the antibodies from the vile into the sterile needle.

“It’s different doing this face to face,” Sylar softly jokes, referencing the last, much more painful time Mohinder had stuck a needle into him.

A slight smile appears on Mohinder’s lips and leaves just as fast. His eyes concentrate on the needle as he presses the point into Sylar’s skin, eliciting a quick gasp from him.

“Sorry,” is Mohinder’s instinctive answer despite not meaning it.

As he pushes the vaccine in, Mohinder finds himself looking up at Sylar’s face, trying to read his thoughts. Both of their eyes meet, focusing on the other but neither can read minds. Both can only suppose what thought synapses are firing in the other man’s brain.

There is still so much unsaid between them, it both weighs them down and keeps them grounded. Sometimes a word or comment spoken with little thought to the layered meanings can still take them back and, for moment, they can forget how bad it got. Those unspoiled remembrances can last a few seconds or minutes, but soon they all break apart and all that is left are two truths, tattered and heartfelt, authentic.

A few seconds feels like an eternity. Time has never been their greatest ally. They have learned to put up with his mood swings, too fast or too slow.

Mohinder breaks their stare, removing the needle and quickly pressing a cotton ball to the puncture wound. Sylar reaches over with his right hand to hold the ball of cotton in place while Mohinder gets a band-aid ready. While Mohinder carefully sticks the band-aid in place over the cotton ball, Sylar surprises them both by not immediately removing his right hand; instead he places it over Mohinder’s left hand. The look of surprise on Mohinder’s face would be comical if the situation were not so dire.

“Thank you, Mohinder,” Sylar finally utters with sincerity.

“Save your thanks until we know that it’s working,” Mohinder says in an attempt to deflect attention from the emotional connection that is still apparent between them.

“It’ll work,” Sylar states with a smirk.

A subtle look of the cat with the canary floats about him. Mohinder imagines Sylar is already thinking about all the people he has yet to find on the list, to fix. Mohinder thinks that that will only happen over his dead body, or his body pinned to the ceiling as the case may be. They will fall right back into their old roles as if no time has passed, as if circumstances have not altered. Mohinder worries they have learned nothing from their past.

“Slow down, Mohinder,” Sylar says as he stands up and slowly steps about the room, keeping his eyes trained on Mohinder. “You’re already over-thinking.”

When Mohinder reacts with a confused look Sylar continues.

“It’s always been one of your weaknesses, or a flaw I’ve come to enjoy, – either thinking yourself into doing too much or doing nothing at all. Relax Mohinder. Everything will turn out as it should. ”

Mohinder sits back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, keeping his eyes focused on the man pacing around the room like a predator around its prey.

“Well it certainly didn’t take long for you to revert to form. I don’t know whether to act shocked by this unsurprising turn of events or be heart warmed by the consistency. Be careful, we don’t know yet if you’re cured,” Mohinder warns.

“I am--,” Sylar begins.

“You keep saying that. But you don’t know. You need to be prepared for--,” Mohinder starts to interrupt.

Sylar crosses the room and leans over Mohinder’s chair, both hands on either arm rest and places his face in front of Mohinder’s, encroaching in his space. A serious look clouds over his face.

“I don’t need you playing devil’s advocate,” he informs Mohinder with a hostility that catches Mohinder’s attention.

Mohinder is unsure if Sylar’s rigid stance is because he honestly believes that Mohinder’s antibodies will save him, bringing him back from death and the brink of normalcy, or if this unwavering position is because Sylar refuses to contemplate his own mortality. Mohinder postulates that it is a bit of both.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sylar’s voice breaks apart Mohinder’s thoughts.

“Like what?” Mohinder asks surprised as he watches Sylar let go of his chair and stand up.

“Like I’m pathetic,” Sylar forces through clenched teeth.

“I’m not--,” Mohinder attempts but Sylar cuts him off with a definitive, “Don’t.”

A momentary standoff ends with Mohinder throwing his arms up in mock surrender. Sylar looks away and continues milling about the room. There are times when Sylar takes comfort in the fact that Mohinder knows how his mind works. It makes him feel less alone. This is not one of those times.

Standing in this Company lab, powerless, with Mohinder across the room watching him pace, Sylar feels trapped, or at least on the defensive. He hates it. It is his least favourite tactical position. He needs Mohinder to not make it worse. He needs Mohinder to understand, he is the only one who possibly could.

From his seat Mohinder struggles with his own sense of imbalance. Being with The Company has allowed him access to facilities and equipment he could only dream of as a professor in India. It has allowed him to meet people the world over, seeing first hand the connection amongst humanity has been like a saving grace.

But it has all come at a price. He is constantly forced to question his own ethics, to figure out the line he tries not to cross but has done so with more frequency than he would have liked. There are so many people he has lost along the way: those who walked away, those he turned away from and those taken from him violently and forcibly.

And now there is Sylar.

The familiarity Mohinder feels with him raises red flags in his mind. It is not only some distant memories, dusted off and reexamined. It is the present. Mohinder’s…comfort, he guesses it is, with Sylar is rooted in the here and now. That is what worries Mohinder the most. The past should make it sketchier, not clearer. Yet, with things as they are with The Company, Sylar’s daily presence at his side provides Mohinder a sense of having an accomplice; a co-conspirator to decipher the ever changing pathways and ground rules.

Walking around the room, Sylar picks up random objects sitting on the countertops. He has no interest in them but is unsure how to crack the silence in the room. There was a time when Mohinder would have been the first to reach out, but those days are a lifetime ago. Sylar misses them.

“You don’t talk about what happened after Kirby Plaza,” Sylar finally says turning around and leaning against the counter. Arms crossing his chest he re-initiates eye contact.

Again pulled out of his thoughts, Mohinder quickly replies, “There’s nothing to say.”

Sylar can tell that Mohinder is purposely holding back, not wanting to share yet, still not ready. He decides to push it anyway.

“You with nothing to say? That’s a first,” the words come forth from Sylar’s mouth tinged with laughter.

However Mohinder is not in a joking mood. He cuts through the attempted humour as he clearly states, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I told you everything about Maya and Alejandro--,” Sylar continues but Mohinder rolls his eyes and interrupts him.

“So what?! That doesn’t entitle you to any part of my life!”

“I know you don’t want to be here. Not like this. I_ know_ this is not how you pictured your life, but it’s the one you got. This Company…you _know_ neither of us really belongs here. It’s a temporary misstep for both of us. You need to stop acting like we’re on opposing sides,” Sylar snaps as he lectures Mohinder into seeming compliance.

Mohinder sighs, an heir of regretful acceptance exhaled. Standing up he goes over to the cabinet behind him he begins putting together a pack with a needle, alcohol strip, band aid and glass slide. Once he is finished he turns around and, leaning against the cabinet, affects the same posture as Sylar.

Finally Sylar asks, “We’ll be able to tell this fast?”

“Yes,” Mohinder replies.

With no hesitation in his step Sylar walks over to Mohinder. Sitting down again in his chair he confidently declares, “Let’s do this.”

Mohinder pulls up his chair to Sylar’s and repeats the same process as before, instead this time he withdraws Sylar’s blood. Sylar watches as Mohinder stands up and goes about making a slide of his blood. Placing the slide under the microscope Mohinder leans over and peers in. It is the moment of truth for both.

Stoic in presentation, Sylar, still sitting, crosses his arms and leans back in the chair watching Mohinder work. He waits for the uncontrolled smile that will form on Mohinder’s lips before he pulls it back and apathetically informs Sylar that the cure is working.

Sylar watches Mohinder.

But no smile forms. Rather Mohinder’s face stays serious as he peers through the microscope. Sylar is unsure what it means until he sees Mohinder step back from the microscope and, still avoiding Sylar’s gaze, close his eyes.

Sylar’s world implodes.   
Mohinder’s world gets darker.

Without thinking, Sylar jumps up. His right hand goes to a shocked Mohinder’s throat and he slams him on his back into the floor. Sylar places his right knee on Mohinder’s chest, his right hand still against his throat. He exerts excruciating pressure down on Mohinder’s body, his face riddled with anger. Mohinder bellows in pain, trapped between the cold floor and Sylar’s body.

Sylar’s intense glare at Mohinder very slowly dissipates after what feels like ages. It melts into pissed off frustration at the unwanted turn of events. His grip loosens on Mohinder’s neck and eventually he stands up and steps away from the hurt man.

Mohinder quickly scrambles up from the floor using the counter nearby to lift his body up. Breathing heavily with his body still in a state of distress from the sudden assault Mohinder spits out, “You will _never _do that to me again!”

The words slam into Sylar who is standing with his back to Mohinder; deep heaving breaths nearly wracking his body. Turning around the fury in his gaze is directed right at Mohinder.

“Everything! They’ve taken everything!” Sylar barks. “I had my abilities and then I didn’t. Waking up with…Candice or Michelle or whatever the hell her name was and I had nothing! She worked for _these_ people and they took me apart piece by piece. I was someone before and now all that’s left is this!”

As Sylar’s words snarl, plead, reach out across the room as he lays his vulnerability on the table, all Mohinder can do is stand by and allow him his breakdown; his grief for what he has lost. Suddenly there is a quick shift in Sylar’s eyes as he seems to refocus on Mohinder.

“When I came back the second time,” Sylar says slowly drawing out each word with purpose while his eyes burrow into Mohinder’s, “and these people worked on me, you knew what they were doing. _You _let them do this!”

“What?!” Mohinder yells back incredulously at the accusation. “I had no idea what they did to you. They told me nothing! They purposely kept me as far away from you as possible! Had I known—,”

“What? Had you known you would have stopped them?” sarcasm drips from Sylar’s words.

Caught off guard by the question, Mohinder’s brain is unsure what the true answer is but the words that first cross by his lips are, “Maybe. Yes. No. I don’t know! But that choice was never put before me.”

“And why should I believe you, Mohinder?” Sylar asks as his voice begins to calm down, already knowing the answer.

“You shouldn’t,” Mohinder responds. “Except that I _am _telling you the truth, Sylar.”

A few moments pass between them. Sylar’s eyes search Mohinder’s, looking for something he cannot put his finger on. Just as Mohinder thinks that Sylar is beginning to come down from the rage seething under the surface, he sees that glint in Sylar’s eyes that Mohinder has always been able to recognize as potential trouble.

“I won’t let them use me as a lab rat anymore,” Sylar professes as he turns from Mohinder and heads towards the lab door.

With unexpected speed, and no proper thought put into what he plans on doing when he gets there, Mohinder crosses the room and grabs Sylar’s left arm in an attempt to drag him away from the door. As Sylar is pulled back he swings his free right arm around, connecting his fist with Mohinder’s face. The impact causes Mohinder to let go while the force of the blow sends him backwards, his back slamming into the counter. The painful cry he lets out snaps Sylar out of his possessed state.

Sylar’s eyes fall slightly as he sees Mohinder grimacing. Worry takes a hold of his face as he walks towards Mohinder and places his hands on his shoulders to inspect the damage.

“Mohinder, I’m--,”

Sylar does not have time to react as Mohinder aggressively shrugs Sylar’s hands from his shoulders and then delivers a right hook into the side of Sylar’s face. The contact throws Sylar off balance but he recovers fast as he stumbles to the right.

Neither of them says anything as they tend to their own wounds.

“They broke me,” Sylar says with no emotion whatsoever in his voice.

Mohinder, wincing as he lightly touches the tender spot by his left eye, looks over at Sylar. Watching Sylar holding his left hand to the left side of his face, Mohinder’s mind fires away as he tries to make sense of what is going on.

He cannot trust The Company but he does not know how much faith he can put in the man across from him. Either way Mohinder feels like he is struggling against the current. Either way he is still out of his depth. Things can never be as they should.

Mohinder knows that the decisions he makes, based on the choices (or lack thereof) that are presented before him, are always fifty-fifty. The odds are never in his favour but they are never stacked overwhelmingly against him either. No matter what happens he tells himself he will figure it out. He always does.

Self-consciously Mohinder walks towards Sylar who has his eyes closed and his sightline blocked by the hand he is still holding up to his face. Mohinder stops about a foot away from him and places his right hand on Sylar’s left shoulder.

“I’ll fix you,” Mohinder offers of himself.

The words wrap themselves around Sylar. It just may be the nicest thing Mohinder has ever said to him.

Sylar lowers his hand and opens his eyes. Looking curiously at Mohinder he says, “You don’t know if you can do that. Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Mohinder.”

Hearing his own words echoed back brings a small smile to Mohinder’s lips before his face turns serious with focus.

“Let me try, Sylar.”

The look that crosses between them speaks of uncertainty. There is no assurance from either of them. There is no telling what The Company will do if they find out or if Mohinder will be able to give Sylar back what was taken or what Sylar will do if he gains one or more of his abilities back. All they know is that in this moment they are standing on the same side; allies of convenience.

Sylar nods at Mohinder.

“Let’s get started before they come looking for us,” Mohinder suggests as he nods back at Sylar.

Together they move about the room trying to put it back in order.

Sylar glances at Mohinder and tries to believe that Mohinder will do what it takes to help make him better. Mohinder glances at Sylar and hopes that he has made the right choice.

Neither knows how it will all turn out. What they do know is that together they are stronger than they will ever be apart. It is the closest thing to a certainty that they have.   
 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mylar Fic Awards  
> **Nominated for Best Powerless!Sylar Characterization**


End file.
